A Villain's Will to Survive-Chapter 210: Mage Tower of the University (1)

As they left Rohakan’s vineyard, Yulie moved through the tangled vines, helping the scattered knights of the Imperial Palace and agents to their feet. Beside her, Isaac, Gawain, and the other knights followed suit, assisting those who still struggled to rise from the ground.

"... Yulie," Isaac called, his voice reaching her.

Yulie turned to her former commanding knight, gave a slight nod, and answered, “Yes, sir.”

"It has been a while... have you fared well?"

It was an uncharacteristic question, unlike Isaac—a knight of unwavering determination—his voice wavering, tinged with quiet sorrow.

"A knight does not falter. What prompts such a question, sir?" Yulie replied, a glimmer of surprise in her eyes.

A bitter smile touched Isaac’s lips, his heart weighted with regret. But he was not alone in his remorse—all the knights felt it too. In this vineyard, they had glimpsed their past, come face to face with old memories, stirred awake by the recollection of Rohakan’s timeline.

“... I should have been there to protect you.”

Yulie had entered the Imperial Knights’ Order with great aspirations, serving under her direct superior, Isaac, whose strength she had once believed would guide her. However, bound by his status as a lesser noble and dependent on fragile political favor, Isaac lacked the power to protect her from Deculein’s obsession with her.

In his inability to protect her or rein in the professor’s intimidation of the other knights, Yulie found herself trapped between duty and the crushing weight of Deculein’s influence.

In the end, Isaac had done nothing as Yulie left the Imperial Knights of her own accord, telling himself there was no other choice, convincing himself it was inevitable. But now, confronted with the past, the weight of that memory bore down on him.

“No, sir,” Yulie replied, shaking her head as she watched Deculein walk ahead, maintaining a measured distance. “The Professor no longer holds any obsession over me.”

"Yes, I heard your engagement has been annulled."

“Yes, sir. That is correct.”

"And yet... it is strange. That persistent Deculein, letting you go so effortlessly?" Isaac muttered.

Yulie walked in silence.

Should I feel relieved that Deculein discarded me? Grateful that he abandoned me, deeming me already destined for death? Yulie thought.

Lost in thought, Yulie turned her eyes to the right—where shadows pooled between the trees...

"She was a child never meant to exist."

Within a scene of Freyden, the Winter Castle, a child wandered through the halls, a blanket drawn around her small frame. Unable to get a good night’s sleep, she paused before her father’s door—where a voice reached her through the silence.

“... There has never been anyone more important to me than you.”

Yulie clutched the blanket wrapped around her, her fingers tightening as she listened. Beyond the door, her father’s voice carried through the door in silence—a hushed lament, heavy with sorrow and steeped in regret.

"Even now, I still cannot understand... why should that child mean more than you."

Snap—!

At that moment, a crisp snap of fingers cut through the silence and the scene crumbled. Startled, Yulie flinched and turned—only to find Deculein watching her.

"Do not drown in sentiment," Deculein said.

Yulie braced herself at his words, forcing down the transient memory and the emotions that had gnawed at her heart. In a breath, she erased all trace of them, letting them fade into nothing.

"Focus on the present."

Perhaps it was the effect of Deculein’s mental strength, honed to its peak, now spilling outward. His words, his voice—his very presence—carried a weight that shaped the world around him. The knights felt it, that strange and ineffable phenomenon. The once damp and murky path through the vineyard cleared the moment he spoke, as if reality itself bent to his command.

"There is nothing more tragic or senseless than losing oneself in the past,” Deculein concluded.

Deculein then moved ahead, and the knights trailed behind. However, in Yulie’s ears, a voice from the past stirred once more, rising once more from the depths of the past.

“Take this, Yulie.”

On the eve before she was sent on her first mission to Marik for Deculein—a day that stood out in her mind—her father had given her a bracelet.

"Keep it with you, as a charm."

In a life that felt both long and fleeting, that moment had been her happiest—the first gift her father had ever given her. Now lost somewhere in Marik, gone without a trace, yet a faint smile touched Yulie’s lips. It was the only token of his love, long buried beneath the weight of years—a memory she had nearly forgotten.

***

I arrived in the capital but took a quieter route. I sent the knights ahead through the main gate, letting the crowd’s attention focus on them. In that brief moment of distraction, I quietly slipped away and made my way to the Yukline mansion.

“Well done, the both of us,” Primien said.

I stepped into the mansion with Primien, but the way she said the both of us nagged at me.

"And what exactly did you do?" I asked, disbelief coloring my voice.

"I was outside the vineyard, preventing other knights and soldiers from entering."

How shameless.

I glanced at my watch, the wooden box still pressed against my chest.

“The Imperial Palace has summoned you, Professor,” Primien said.

“I am already aware.”

"Will you be leaving for the Imperial Palace immediately?"

“There’s something I must find first,” I said, ascending up the stairs without pause.

Memories that had been buried now surfaced with startling clarity—the faint traces of the original Deculein. Following those fragments as they pieced themselves together, I made my way to the third-floor office of the mansion.

Among the many jewels and trinkets Deculein had collected for his amusement, a single bracelet lay within the mansion’s enchanted vault—corroded and broken beyond repair. Through Sharp Eyesight, I caught the faint glimmer of a fading Track Location spell still clinging to its surface.

“... Freyden,” I muttered.

The one who had attacked Deculein during the Marik incident—the very day Yulie suffered grave injuries—was none other than the former head of Freyden, her father, Iggyris von Creyle-Freyden.

Whether he had meant to kill Deculein with Yulie by his side, whether she had merely been caught in the chaos, or whether it hadn’t mattered to him who died that day, I could not say.

“Hmm.”

But more than anything, I wondered—why Deculein had kept this bracelet locked away in his vault.

Knock, knock—

At the servant’s knock, I slipped the bracelet into the inner pocket of my coat and used Telekinesis to open the door.

"Master, a confidential letter from the Round Table has arrived," said Ren, the butler, approached and presented the letter, its seal bound tight with a layered spell.

Beside me, Primien watched him in silence.

"Then, I will take my leave," Ren said as he stepped out.

With Ren gone, Primien’s attention turned to the letter in my hands.

"Is it confidential? I can step outside and wait if you’d prefer," Primien said.

I read the letter in silence.

Letter from the Round Table

... Now that the long southern advance has come to an end, the Round Table shares a matter of great significance with its elders and those deemed worthy of such a position.

This revelation is nothing short of extraordinary. However, as the necessary preparations remain incomplete, any premature disclosure could prove detrimental. We therefore urge strict discretion until the appropriate time.

To the matter at hand—Bethan of Beorad has refined Blood Magic to a level rivaling the eight categories of magic. Through tireless pursuit, he has at last devised a spell capable of identifying the Scarletborn from a single drop of blood.

In light of this, the Round Table, in cooperation with the Empire and the Kingdoms, will take decisive action. We shall root out those who have long concealed their demonic blood, deceiving us all. This is a step toward fulfilling our founding mission—the realization of magical justice and...

Bethan’s invention of Blood Magic was a watershed event—one that would serve as a turning point in the world’s main quest.

"I’ve never seen a letter from the Round Table sealed this tightly before," Primien said.

"Bethan has invented Blood Magic—a spell capable of identifying the Scarletborn from a single drop of blood," I said, as if it were of no consequence, letting the confidential knowledge slip.

At that moment, Primien's shoulders gave the slightest quiver.

“... Bethan, is it? Certainly confidential information worth keeping. An impressive invention,” Primien murmured, regaining composure.

However, subtle signs betrayed Primien’s composure—small, almost imperceptible movements across her body. Through Sharp Eyesight, they were unmistakable. Primien’s face remained as composed as ever, but the tension in her veins and the turbulent stir of her mana told a different story.

"Identifying the Scarletborn with a mere drop of blood... Hmm, how convenient," Primien murmured, folding her arms.

Most likely, it was a gesture meant to conceal the tremor running through her.

"If you’re curious, read it," I said, holding out the letter toward her.

"... Are you certain? The Round Table marked it as confidential—"

"Do you think I am bound to obey those old men at the Round Table?"

Leaking this information wasn’t a concern—if anything, it was intentional and exactly what I wanted. The Round Table had never been to my liking anyway.

“I understand. Knowing in advance will definitely allow the Ministry of Public Safety to respond with greater flexibility,” Primien said after a brief hesitation, accepting the letter.

Leaving Primien behind as she justified herself while reading the letter, I stepped out of the office.

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.

“Ren.”

“Yes, Professor,” Ren replied.

"Purchase the finest mana stones and crystals," I ordered, who waited just beyond the door.

"How much should I procure?”

"Enough to build a cavern."

In the game’s system, the leap to third-grade mana quality was nothing more than a numerical boost. But in reality, it was an entirely different matter. Adapting would be a struggle, and mastering it, even more so—like suddenly waking up to find you had grown eight inches overnight.

Therefore, to adapt, I would have to dismantle every habit and tool I had developed as a mage, rebuilding the very foundation of my craft. For that, I needed the most optimal training ground—a cavern lined with mana crystals. A place to cultivate in seclusion, where one undergoes training to transcend their limits.

"I will make the preparations. Also, the Imperial Palace awaits your presence, Professor."

"See to it that the vehicle is prepared, and we will leave once I get changed," I ordered.

“Yes, Professor,” Ren replied.

Formal attire for a visit to the Imperial Palace had to be more refined—polished, dignified, and artfully arranged. I ascended the stairs and stepped into my room, only to stop cold the moment I opened the door—someone was on my bed.

A wave of emotion crashed over me, my breath hitching in my throat. For a fleeting moment, the stacks of composure I had so carefully cultivated—developed through Meditative Body—threatened to crumble.

“That little...”

... I had no idea when Yeriel had arrived—or why she was even here, curled up like a sleeping cat, breathing softly, fast asleep like she belonged there.

I pressed a hand to my forehead, a rare bead of sweat beginning to form. If it had been anyone else—some unknown stranger instead of her—I might have killed them on the spot. Stepping closer to the bed, I looked down at her.

Snore, snore... Snore, snore...

Thankfully, Yeriel was sleeping neatly, without any mess—no drool like Epherene, no dirt-streaked clothes, no grease in her hair, or stray flakes stuck to her. I stood there in silence, debating whether to yank her up by the hair or slam my palm against her forehead.

“... Tch.”

But the Imperial Palace was expecting me, and I had no time to spare. Besides, bickering with her wasn’t worth the effort, nor was it in my nature. So, I turned away, pretending not to notice.

Dressed in formal attire, I held the wooden box against my chest and moved toward the door—only to pause. Turning back, my eyes settled on Yeriel, still curled up in my bed, sleeping soundly like a child.

“... Unbelievable,” I muttered.

Maybe she’s just at that age where she starts pushing boundaries—or perhaps she’s been shouldering more than she lets on. If the weight of it all has finally worn her down, it wouldn’t be surprising. After all, the weight of the Yukline name has never been light, I thought.

I tightened my tie, draped my coat over my shoulders, and took the wooden box in both hands. Just before stepping out, I glanced back at Yeriel one last time.

"... If you drool, you’re dead."

Since it was Yeriel, there was no need to go as far as incinerating the bed—sterilizing it thoroughly would be enough...

***

Beneath the warm afternoon sun and the touch of a crisp breeze, I arrived at the Imperial Palace with the wooden box in hand. A crowd had already gathered, waiting for me, and by the looks of it, a feast had been prepared in advance.

“Professor Deculein!”

"Oh, there Professor Deculein is—our hero has arrived!"

"They say that fool Rohakan, ignorant of the full scope of his own strength, brought about his own downfall—struck down by the Professor in the end!"

"So that is Rohakan’s head in the box..."

The mages, eunuchs, and officials of the Imperial Palace approached me, their words pressing in from all sides, their eyes drawn to the wooden box. But I had no intention of letting these fools tarnish Rohakan’s name.

Perhaps, without realizing it, I had come to hold a sliver of respect for Rohakan. At the very least, he was worth more than all the parasites infesting the Imperial Palace combined. If ever there was a noble who deserved the title of true philosopher, it was him.

“For the head of Yukline, who vanquished that filthy Black Beast!” Romelock, a noble from the capital, declared, raising his glass in a toast.

I gave Romelock a brief, dispassionate look before turning away.

"I always had faith in you, Professor Deculein!" Delic said, stepping forward.

As of late, Delic had made a name for himself within the Imperial Knights' Order.

Delic is a valuable piece in the game of politics—there would be no harm in backing him further, I thought.

"Good. Keep up the good work, Delic," I said, offering a handshake.

"Yes, Professor! I will give it my all!" Delic replied, his face flushed with gratitude, his round cheeks puffed like a warm load of bread, his eyes wide—almost cartoonishly so, like Spongebob’s.

Just as Delic shook my hand with a shy, grateful smile, his front teeth peeking out like a squirrel’s...

“Professor Deculein,” said the maid as she approached me.

It was an unfamiliar face, so I regarded her in silence.

“Professor, she is a recently appointed maid in Her Majesty’s service,” Delic murmured beside me. “It appears she has earned Her Majesty’s favor, so it may be worth keeping an eye on her.”

"Perhaps you might visit Her Majesty—or rather, the Hall of Learning," the maid suggested, lowering her eyes. "Today, she may allow a visit."

The maid brought a significant message from the Empress—Sophien, once buried in her workload, might finally open her doors to me again. I nearly answered without thinking but hesitated. Instead, I searched my memory, considering what she might ask of me.

“Even if I were to tell you that Sophien will one day kill you, you would still remain by her side.”

Rohakan’s voice from the past lingered at the edge of my hearing.

“I’m glad to know you’ll be there. Until we meet again, my protégé.”

Perhaps what Rohakan had asked of me was a final plea—to uphold his lies for Sophien’s sake.

“Yes. I am the one who killed her.”

But today, Sophien would undoubtedly demand the truth, and if the reason for our meeting was about Rohakan, then perhaps it was best not to meet her at all, as I could not bring myself to offer her a lie.

"Professor Deculein?" the maid called.

I set my thoughts aside and turned my eyes back to the maid.

The maid offered a faint smile and added, "Today may be your only chance, Professor. Please, if you go to Her Majesty—"

"Take this," I said, handing the wooden box to the maid.

The maid held the wooden box awkwardly against her chest, blinking in confusion as if struggling to understand its meaning.

Then I added, “It’s Rohakan’s head.”

“P-Professor? I-I mean... this... should be delivered to Her Majesty by you personally. If not today, you may not have another opportunity...” the maid stammered, her voice trembling.

"Today is not Wednesday," I replied, shaking my head.

One defining aspect of Deculein’s personality was his principled commitment.

“Pardon me, Professor?” the maid asked, looking up.

"Lessons take place every Wednesday," I said, adjusting my sleeve before straightening my slightly loosened tie. With a brief glance, I gestured toward the wooden box. "Today, I am merely carrying out Her Majesty’s decree. There is no need for me to seek a visit—it would be an unnecessary disruption to her work."

"Ah..." the maid murmured, her lips parting in surprise.

"I'll be leaving now. You deliver Rohakan to Her Majesty."

"But... N-No, Professor! I-I—"

I turned away without hesitation, ignoring the hands that reached for me. Through the banquet hall, where classical melodies swelled and nobles waltzed beneath shimmering chandeliers, their laughter entwined with the clink of crystal glasses, I passed the towering pillars adorned with gemstones, my steps never faltering.

Leaving the Imperial Palace behind, I did not return to Yukline Mansion. Instead, I headed to where my true work awaited—the Mage Tower.